


Surrender

by intotheruins



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bathing Kink, First Time, Light Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 22:25:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11217486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intotheruins/pseuds/intotheruins
Summary: Mordo comes to check on Stephen after the Everest incident.





	Surrender

**Author's Note:**

> This is totally self-indulgent because I'm in love with this ship, both of these characters, and I always need more bathing kink.

God, he’s so _cold._

The bath in Stephen’s room is small—he has to fold his knees just to fit inside—but it’s deep, deep enough for the water to submerge more than half his body. It’s as hot as he can stand, a heat his skin has registered, responded to; there’s sweat forming along his brow, a flush in his cheeks, but apparently his bones don’t know that. They feel brittle with the ice they seem to have carried back from Everest, one wrong move and _crack._ Stephen flinches, smacks his hand down into the water to drown out his own mind.

The Ancient One told him to surrender, and he did. For a brief moment, he understood what it meant to be powerless and empowered in the same instant. He understood that he wasn’t in control, and that it was okay.

Then he stumbled through the portal, landed on warm stone, and panicked. 

Maybe the cold is mocking him. He shivers, plunges both arms into the water and wraps them around his legs. It was a good place, senseless and contradictory, but good. He wants it back. Wants to carve new paths in his mind and block up the old ones that say no, he is in control of his own life, his own actions, his own power.

There’s a moment where he stares down at his shaking hands through the water, fingers curled tightly into his own shins, and then he begins to laugh, breathless and desperate.

Maybe he can control how he surrenders, but there’s nothing he can control once he’s there. He felt that too clearly, felt the power and the fear and the contradicting peace. He buries his face in his knees and convinces himself he really is laughing, that the hot, prickling wetness in the corners of his eyes is just moisture from the steam.

When he finally gulps down a few steadying breaths and lifts his head, it’s to find Mordo leaning in his doorway.

“Um.” Stephen blinks. Mordo’s still there, arms crossed over his broad chest, a small smile curled into one corner of his mouth. “Did you need something?”

He’s already as folded into himself as he can get, but Stephen tries to tighten his legs just a little more. It’s the first time he can remember feeling so self-conscious about his body since he was a teenager. Ducking his chin against his knees, he stares at the steam drifting from the surface of the water and tries not to shake when he feels Mordo’s eyes sweep over him.

“I came to check on you,” Mordo says. When Stephen risks a glance, he finds Mordo’s gaze on his face, dark eyes warm and just a little amused. “She did the same thing to me. And I did the same as you’re doing now.”

A grin chases itself across Stephen’s lips before he can stop it. Mordo’s smile widens in response. He pushes himself upright, takes the few steps to the bath, and sinks to his knees.

Stephen blinks. His fingers tighten into his own skin, and he stares at Mordo with wide eyes.

_Forget everything you think you know._

He flinches when Mordo dips his hand into the bath, but doesn’t move away. The crash of water streaming back to its source is too loud, makes him flinch again, too many nerves grating against the sound—then the water is spilling down his bare shoulders, spreading warmth where he didn’t even realize he was still cold. His lips part around a soft gasp, his eyes flutter closed. A shiver starts in his shoulders, follows the path of the water, and this time he doesn’t bother trying to suppress it.

He hates pity. He tolerates sympathy only slightly better. This is neither of those things. This is… caring, maybe.

Mordo pours another handful over his shoulders, and lets his fingers brush against Stephen’s spine. His thumb sweeps up the side of Stephen’s neck and runs along the hairline before retreating to collect more water.

“That…” Stephen swallows whatever words might have followed. There’s a thick heat pooling low in his gut, and he squeezes his thighs together in an attempt to ignore—or maybe just hide—the way his cock is beginning to swell.

He’s never been this attracted to a man before. There have been moments in his past, glimpses of intense eyes or a particularly nice set of hands, when he thought, _maybe._ Nothing like this, like the heat from the water has finally spilled inside him and washed all the ice from his bones. He opens his eyes, makes himself look at Mordo’s face, only inches away. Close enough to kiss. The thought makes him flush and he almost ducks his head, but Mordo’s not looking, concentrating on his task, so Stephen lets his eyes wander.

Mordo’s beautiful. Strong, sturdy, eyes as fierce as they are kind, capable hands that Stephen desperately wants against his skin.

“Is this…” _a seduction._ He can’t quite force out the words. He took being wanted for granted before, when his face was clean-shaven and his hands were steady and free of scars. The idea of someone finding him attractive now seems absurd.

It seems Mordo understands what Stephen couldn’t say because he bends suddenly, dips his head to press a kiss to Stephen’s shoulder. He rests his hand lightly against the back of Stephen’s neck and asks, softly, “Do you want me to stop?”

Stephen shakes his head before he’s even thought it through and tips his head to the side, asking for another kiss that Mordo gives easily.

This is the only kind of situation in which Stephen has ever excelled at surrendering. He still remembers the first time with Christine, how surprised she was to discover he was the more submissive when it came to sex. Mordo seems to expect it, though he’s anything but demanding. He takes gently, coaxing Stephen’s mouth open, easing his legs apart. He dips Stephen back a bit, holding him up with the hand still around the back of his neck, and it’s the simplest thing for Stephen to relax into the hold, to trust Mordo to keep his head above the water.

Maybe that’s all it takes with the magic. Maybe he just has to trust it the way he can trust this.

They break apart to breathe. Mordo rests his forehead against Stephen’s, and Stephen lets a _please_ tumble off his tongue. Mordo smiles, runs his hand down Stephen’s inner thigh but stops before he can reach the hot, persistent ache of his erection.

“Do you surrender?” Mordo teases.

Stephen huffs out a laugh, nods, and sighs in relief as Mordo finally closes a hand around his cock.


End file.
